


Blowing Off Steam

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Drugged Sex, Gang Rape, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22301140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Heaven inducts a new Archangel, it is tradition to kidnap a demon from Hell and torture them as part of the new Archangel's welcome.Crowley is about to learn firsthand what it means to be the chosen demon.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Michael (Good Omens), Crowley & Sandalphon (Good Omens), Crowley & Uriel (Good Omens), Crowley/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 59





	Blowing Off Steam

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please heed the warnings - Crowley is drugged for this, and cannot physically move.
> 
> Graphic non-con cw.
> 
> Seriously, all, take care of yourselves.

Crowley was standing in front of a window, studying a pair of boots. The crocodile skin leather was dyed a rich black, with a silver zipper running up its side. Its heel was just elevated enough to add an inch or two to Crowley’s height. He didn’t need it, of course, but the fact that the option was there was tantalising. Crowley ran his hand over his chin and looked at the price tag.

“A thousand pounds?” he said. “For them?”

Admittedly, they were genuine crocodile leather, he mused. And he was wearing the same boots he had been wearing during the failed Armageddon, which was over a year ago. Style kept changing at a rapid pace, humans finding new ways to make clothes needlessly expensive. 

Crowley did pride himself on being on the cutting edge of fashion.

“But, still,” he muttered, scowling. “A thousand pounds. That could buy me…” he frowned. “A lot.”

He was debating between talking the sales person into giving him the boots for free or just outright stealing them when a hand rested on his shoulder. He turned his head to the right, expecting to see Aziraphale’s attempt at disapproval. Instead, he was looking into cold, glittering violet eyes, hard with anger, in direct contrast to the easy, affable smile on their owner’s face.

“Hey, champ,” Gabriel said. “Fancy running into you here.”

_Shit_ , Crowley thought. _Shit, shit, shit._

“Gabriel,” Crowley said, shaking off the Archangel’s hand. “What brings-”

He stopped as he felt something sharp stab him in the neck. For a horrible moment, he pictured a blessed blade sticking through his throat, smoke sizzling from the wound. Instead, Crowley felt something cool enter his bloodstream. He whipped his head around and saw Uriel standing inches from him. Her hand was pressed against his neck, wrapped around a syringe. She drew it away and the long needle flashed in the sun.

_Too long_ , Crowley thought. 

Thick, amber liquid splattered onto the sidewalk and smoked.

“What the fuck,” Crowley spat. It seemed like the only thing he could say.

“How long did they say it would take to kick in?” Uriel asked, ignoring Crowley.

Gabriel shrugged. “They didn’t tell me.”

Crowley took a step away from the two Archangels while they spoke. Or tried to. His feet resisted the orders his brain was giving them, rooted to the ground. His relationship with gravity seemed to change and he was pitching forward.

“Whoa,” Gabriel said, catching him. “Easy, slugger. Can’t let you get hurt now.” He lifted Crowley in his arms, bridal style. “That comes later.”

Crowley’s head lolled against Gabriel’s chest. All of his muscles decided, at the same time, to take a vacation. Only his eyes could move, and Crowley darted them from side to side. Gabriel’s hands were digging into him and there was a vicious smile on his face - the same one from the so-called trial. Uriel’s smirk was triumphant and Crowley’s heart rate tripled. In his experience, the only time a happy angel was a good thing was when Aziraphale was happy.

“Quicker than I thought,” Uriel said. “Let’s go.”

The three of them disappeared.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It took you long enough,” Sandalphon said from the couch. He was lounging on his back, tossing a sphere up and down. 

Crowley locked eyes with him. Sandalphon looked him over before turning his attention to Gabriel and Uriel.

“This is him?” Sandalphon asked.

Uriel dropped onto the couch next to him. As the ball fell, she reached out and caught it in her palm. Her fingers curled around it.

“That’s him,” she said.

Drool pooled where Crowley’s head met Gabriel’s chest and Gabriel made a sound of disgust. He released Crowley and took a step back. Crowley fell to the ground in a heap, his head bent at the limits of his corporation, staring at the ground. He watched Gabriel’s feet walk around him and towards the couch.

“Disappointed?” Gabriel said.

“Not at all,” Sandalphon said. “Where’s Michael?”

“She’s getting everything ready,” Gabriel said. “There’s a ton of paperwork to be filed. It’s not every day we initiate a new Archangel.”

_Fuck,_ Crowley thought.

The last time there was a new Archangel, it had been Sandalphon. Crowley remembered the screams of the demon the Archangels tortured. Bael’s Hallway was still off limits, the sound of hysterical laughter sometimes echoing throughout Hell. 

“Same rules, at least?” Sandalphon asked.

“Different,” Gabriel said. “We’re not allowed to kill him. The Almighty’s rules.” He spoke a little louder. “But everything else we want is on the table. Short of permanent disfigurement or psychological damage.”

“Meaning,” a new voice said, “he’s at our mercy.”

A new pair of feet stopped before Crowley’s face. He felt the whoosh of air before the point of the shoe caught his stomach and knocked him onto his back. If he had been able to, he would have gasped. As it was, all he could do was stare upward and let the pain radiate through his side.

_Satan bless it,_ he thought. _My rib is broken. Nice of them to let me look up, though._

He wondered where Aziraphale was. Hopefully not in Hell, being offered to a new Duke or Prince. If Heaven’s initiations were terrifying, Hell’s were worse, in that the point of them was to kill the victim. Crowley remembered Ligur’s initiation. That went about as well as it could have. At least the angel escaped that one, with Crowley’s help.

_Maybe if I was able to say, ‘Hey, asswipes, remember Ariel? Yeah, I saved her,’ they won’t hurt me too badly,_ he thought.

A delicate, disapproving cough dragged Crowley out of his head.

“Michael,” Uriel said, “how are we going to present him to our newest member intact if you insist on hurting him?”

“I’ll heal him after,” Michael said. Her voice was flat and unemotional. Her foot, slowly pressing down on Crowley’s wrist, was not. Its pressure was inexorable and he felt his bones creak in protest. “This is _my_ revenge.”

_Is she still on that? Ligur was trying to kill me too, and besides that, it’s been a year, Michael,_ Crowley sneered. _Let it go, for somebody’s sake._

Then the pressure eased. Relief flowed through Crowley, adrenaline loosening its grip on his brain, until Michael’s foot slammed down on his wrist. The cracking noise rang through the room. A scream rose from Crowley’s throat and died in his mouth, unheard. Searing pain alerted him to what he couldn’t see because his head was locked in place. His imagination filled in the gaps - his wrist, bent at an unnatural angle, swelling in protest of his bones fracturing.

“Shall we get started, then?” Sandalphon asked. “Or are we waiting for our new comrade?”

“He’s tied up,” Michael said.

“Shouldn’t he be here to enjoy the show?” Gabriel asked. “This is his induction, after all. We wouldn’t want him to miss it.”

“He’ll be by later,” Michael said. “After we’ve had our fun.”

Crowley could hear the cruel smile in her voice.

_Fun? You wouldn’t know what fun was if it came and smacked you in the face,_ Crowley thought viciously. _Of course you’d think torturing a demon is fun._

“Who’s first?” Sandalphon asked.

There was a creeping silence save for the sound of Sandalphon’s sphere hitting his palm over and over. Crowley stared at the ceiling and specks on it. They looked like black stars against a white sky. He counted them. He got up to thirty before someone spoke again.

“Someone’s got to go first,” Uriel said.

“I thought we would go together,” Gabriel said. “Get it over with. Team building.”

_Nothing builds a team faster than group activities, eh, champs?_ Crowley thought. _Come on, buds, let’s all beat on the helpless demon. We can take photos for the company picnic!_

“For Heaven’s sake,” Michael snapped. “Fine.”

Crowley heard her heels clack on the marble floor. There was the rustle of fabric. Her hands grasped his hips. Her fingers hooked under his waistband. They tugged down, coaxing his pants past his underwear, his knees, all the way down to his ankles. Michael tore them over his boots with the sound of rending fabric. Crowley tried to look down and got as far as his collarbones. He could just make out the top of Michael’s head.

Her cold blue eyes looked up at him. “Surprised?” she asked.

_With you lot?_ Crowley thought, thinking of Gabriel’s triumph when Crowley walked into Hellfire for Aziraphale. _Nothing would shock me._

Except for what Michael did next. Which was pull down her pants and reveal that she equipped herself with a cock. That, Crowley had to admit, was a shock.

“I bet you expected us to torture you,” Michael continued, settling between Crowley’s legs. “Really, I did think about it. Some diluted holy water, blessed blades. But the Almighty ordered us. No permanent damage or psychological harm. So I had to think. What would be the best way to do this?”

She smiled.

“I had to use my imagination.”

_Hope you didn’t think too hard and hurt yourself,_ Crowley thought snidely. He wished that he could speak, if only to see the looks on their faces as they got angrier and angrier. _Maybe it’s better that I can’t say anything._

“And,” she said, leaning forward. Her lips grazed against his ear. “Between you and me, I asked for a little demonic inspiration. Hastur gave me such wonderful pointers.”

_Of course he did. Fucking Hastur._

She pulled back and yanked his underwear around his ankles. She tsked, running her finger along Crowley’s slit. “You’re already prepared,” she said. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You are a demon, after all.”

She worked her finger into him and Crowley’s brain kicked into overdrive.

_Okay,_ he thought as her finger crooked against his vaginal walls. _Okay, okay. So this is happening. The Satan blessed Archangel Michael has her finger shoved up my cunt. Right. That’s normal. This is all completely normal. And it’ll stop soon. Now, probably, in fact. Then they’ll all get on with the beating, and the torture, and the laughter. Like now._

Michael added a second finger, her face devoid of emotion. Crowley was as dry as a desert, and it felt like she was clawing at him.

_Now!_ Crowley thought, his inner voice tinged with desperation. _She’s going to stop now!_

Instead, she added a third.

“Jeez,” Gabriel said, peering over her shoulder. As if Crowley was just another piece of furniture. “How many are you going to stick in there?”

“You can add your whole hand,” Michael said. “Usually, you warm up to it.” She glanced at Crowley and back down at his cunt. “Usually.” Her fingers spread wide in Crowley and the pain travelled up to his brain and stuck there. “Want to try?” she asked, looking over at Gabriel.

_Fuck,_ Crowley thought. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I knew I should have stayed in bed today. Or I should have just bought the fucking boots. What, were they going to stab me in the neck with a needle in the middle of a blessed store?_

“Sure,” Gabriel said. 

He knelt by Michael, bumping their shoulders together, before rolling up his sleeve. He forced a finger into Crowley. Where Michael’s fingers at least had the advantage of being slight and thin, Gabriel’s were large. The combination opened Crowley in a new, unwelcome way.

“Is it always this dry?” Gabriel complained.

_Oh, sorry,_ Crowley thought hysterically. _I hate to ruin your enjoyment of fucking raping me by not being aroused by it!_

“I’m not exactly an expert,” Michael snapped. “Miracle lubrication onto your finger if you’re so disappointed.” 

“Can’t you miracle him aroused?” Uriel asked from the couch. “That should make it easier.”

_Yeah, Gabriel,_ Crowley thought. _Use a little of that divine grace to make raping me easier. I bet God will be really fucking impressed._

He really hoped Aziraphale was safe in the bookshop.

Gabriel sighed and snapped his fingers. Crowley felt heat build in between his legs, and moisture trickle down his thighs. At the very least, the fingers inside of him no longer felt quite as uncomfortable.

_Small miracles,_ Crowley thought, and would have laughed if he could.

“That’s better,” Gabriel said. “Wonder how it feels around this.” He grabbed in between his legs, giving himself an experimental tug.

“Go find out,” Michael said, withdrawing her fingers. “The bed’s over there.”

“It’s filled with down,” Sandalphon said helpfully.

Gabriel lifted Crowley into his arms. Crowley’s head lolled back and the world was upside down. Michael stood and walked out of Crowley’s vision, pantsless, as if this was another day at the office. As if her colleague wasn’t taking Crowley to a bed to be raped. As if Crowley wasn’t even there.

_As if I’m not a thinking, feeling, living being,_ Crowley thought. _Because she can look at herself in the mirror tomorrow and remind herself that I’m just a demon._

Rage made him feel sick.

His back hit the mattress and Gabriel was on top of him. The Archangel’s weight forced the air out of Crowley’s lungs and his body fought, for a moment, to breathe. It gave up when Crowley felt cool air hit his chest and heard the sound of more fabric rending. He stared up at the ceiling as he felt Gabriel’s nails break the skin of his chest, dragging down his stomach.

“Can someone hold his head?” Gabriel asked. “I want him to see this.”

_No, no, no, no,_ Crowley begged. _Come on, surely you’re not that cruel, God, are you?_

Footsteps resounded through the room as someone’s heels clacked on the marble floor. The bed shifted and sank, and Crowley’s head was resting on Michael’s lap. Their eyes met, and Crowley mentally shrank away from the hatred there, hatred enough to make even the Prince of Wrath proud. She forced his head up, directing it to take in Gabriel.

_Fuck, that’s too big, how the fuck is he so big,_ Crowley thought, staring at Gabriel’s cock.

Throughout the centuries, Crowley _had_ sucked quite a few number of cocks, and still never saw one quite as big or as thick as Gabriel’s. It was as if Gabriel made up a cock based on vague descriptions he’d heard of throughout history, and failed spectacularly. 

Crowley very much wished he was anywhere else. The very idea of that being forced into him made him want to vomit.

_If I could._

“So, just put it in?” Gabriel said, and shrugged. “Seems easy enough.” Gabriel lined himself up and, with a grunt, forced himself into Crowley’s cunt.

It burned. In the trap of his mind, Crowley howled with pain, beat his fists on the bed, bit Michael and pumped poison into her veins. Nothing happened in the realm of reality, and Gabriel started to push himself in deeper, and deeper. There was tearing pain as Gabriel bottomed out and groaned. Somehow, Crowley wasn’t bleeding.

_Of course not,_ he thought through his haze. _Wouldn’t want black blood to get on these pristine bodies, right?_

Gabriel drew himself out in a slow drag before slamming back in. Crowley’s body jerked with the force of it and his hand lifted and flopped back down onto the bed. Michael tightened her grip around his head.

“It’s kind of like fucking a ragdoll,” Gabriel said. “He’s just lying here.”

“You really are complaining a lot today,” Sandalphon said and snapped his fingers.

A harness appeared around Crowley’s lower stomach, complete with leg straps. They attached to the buckles on the harness, pulling his knees towards his chest. Gabriel made a satisfied noise before grabbing Crowley’s hips. Gabriel’s fingers squeezed, pressing in hard enough to leave marks, before starting to thrust in and out of Crowley in earnest.

It was like a torture Crowley never felt before. Gabriel’s cock was too large, and he moved too fast. Crowley felt like he was being stretched beyond repair. The room was silent and still save for Gabriel’s panting and the sick sound of flesh slapping against flesh. Whatever arousal Gabriel had given him was gone, Crowley thought. It was all dry friction on dry friction. 

“Fuck,” Gabriel gasped, his nails breaking the skin around Crowley’s hips in half-moon marks. “You’ve all got to try this. It feels so fucking good. I could go for _hours_.”

“You have all the time you need,” Michael said. “Prince Beelzebub gave us an endless supply of the drug.”

_I’m going to find Beelzebub, and Hastur, and I’m going to murder them, slowly, with holy water-_

Then Gabriel thrust with brutal strength and Crowley’s brain stopped working. All he could feel was pain, and terror, and the utter humiliation of knowing that he couldn’t move, couldn’t even fucking breathe, locked in his body. 

_At least Gabriel seems to be enjoying himself,_ Crowley thought, wishing his thoughts could kill. _Look at him go. Must be all the jogging he does, fucking pounding away on the pavement, the same way he’s pounding away into me. I want to punch him in his smug fucking face._

Gabriel kept going, his panting a constant sound. Crowley tried to zone out and think about which of his plants to yell at over this, but either Michael’s hands would tighten around him more, or Gabriel would thrust harder over and over until Crowley could barely think, and he’d be right back to where he started. Which was realising, with growing shame, that his body wasn’t listening to him, and was starting to build up to what would most likely be a mind shattering orgasm.

Which was just unfair.

The pleasure tipped him over and, although he couldn’t move, or speak, the muscles of his vaginal wall still contracted around Gabriel. The Archangel grunted, his eyes widening in surprise, and his come flooded into Crowley and down his legs. There was a moment of stunned silence, and Crowley locked eyes with Gabriel. The delighted cruelty that Crowley saw in those violet eyes was terrifying. Gabriel’s hands tightened around Crowley’s hips, fingers digging into Crowley’s hip bones.

_Please, just once, listen to me,_ Crowley said, turning his eyes upward. _If you’re going to give me anything, God, at least give me my dignity. Please._

Gabriel started laughing.

_God, you’re kind of a dick._

“What’s so funny?” Sandalphon asked. He sat up and walked over to them. “Oh,” he said, his tone changing. He snickered and Crowley felt his face turn hot at the sound.

“What?” Michael demanded, leaning over Crowley’s face. “What happened?”

“He fucking came,” Gabriel said, slapping Crowley’s cheek. 

Crowley’s head turned with the force of the blow and Michael turned it back.

“The little demon whore _enjoyed_ this.” He laughed again and lifted Crowley’s hips off of the bed. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his grin fading. “If I knew you were enjoying this, I would have tried harder.” He looked over Crowley’s face at Michael. “Let me make it up to him?”

Michael leaned back and ran her hands down Crowley’s chest. “Be my guest,” she said, lifting her shoulders into a shrug. “Our newest member should still be signing paperwork. You have plenty of time.”

Crowley’s eyes darted from her flat, cold expression to Gabriel’s greedy, lustful one. 

_Please, please, stop,_ he begged. _Just let me go, please. I’ll do anything, I’ll come up here once a year, I just want to go back and buy those stupid boots, and maybe pick up some wine, and bring it back to Aziraphale. Please._

Gabriel started fucking him again, this time slamming into him with each thrust. Crowley’s body jerked with the force of it. Michael kept his head still as Gabriel forced himself deeper and deeper. Crowley’s eyes remained wide open, even control over his eyelids denied him. It allowed him to take in every minute shift in Gabriel’s expression, each shudder of pleasure, each inhumane smile Gabriel sent his way.

Gabriel moaned and his nails turned partway to talons. They pierced Crowley, black blood trickling down in small rivers as Gabriel finally forced himself as deep as possible and came. Come dribbled out of Crowley’s cunt and down his thighs as Gabriel threw his head back, eyes fluttering shut. When he was finished, he pulled out with a wet sound and dropped Crowley’s hips back to the bed.

“Look at him,” Gabriel sneered. He waved his hand and was immaculate once more, if still naked. His cock hung, flaccid. “All fucked out. Poor slut. Seems like he’s never had a good fuck in his life.”

“We’ll make sure he doesn’t forget this one for a long time,” Sandalphon said, standing. “My turn,” he said, directing his flinty gaze towards Crowley. Sandalphon’s lips stretched into a smile, revealing a flash of gold teeth.

Despite always wearing sunglasses, Crowley prided himself on his eyes. True, they were a reminder of his demonic nature, but unlike many of his fellow demons, he didn’t hate being one. Just like being an angel was a job, so was being a demon. At least, that’s what Crowley always thought. So his eyes were never a sore spot.

_There is just one thing, though,_ he thought as Gabriel walked out of his field of vision. _I never could cry._

At least he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

“I want the head, Michael,” Sandalphon said, shedding his coat. “He can’t talk right now, anyway,” he said. He raked his eyes over Crowley and shivered. “What else is a demon’s mouth good for, if not receiving something holy?”

Michael pushed Crowley off of her and sent him slithering to the ground. He tried to move away, even crawl on his belly like he was cursed to do, but his body was still frozen. His broken rib and wrist sent knife-sharp waves of pain through his body. 

Sandalphon swaggered over and lifted Crowley’s head. The angel kept lifting Crowley until he was kneeling, shoulders slouched forward, arms dangling by his side. The only thing keeping him upright was Michael’s hands resting on his sides, forcing his torso to remain straight. Sandalphon smirked and grabbed Crowley’s hand. He placed it over his crotch and Crowley felt a wave of revulsion hit him as he felt Sandalphon’s erection. It felt obscenely large. Sandalphon’s finger pushed past Crowley’s slack jaw and rested on top of his tongue.

“How wide can I open your mouth, serpent?” Sandalphon asked, shoving another finger into Crowley’s mouth. Sandalphon’s grin widened as his erection tented his slacks. He started to move Crowley’s hand around it, moaning. “I bet you’re loving it in there,” he said. “Being used. It’s probably pretty common in Hell. We should start doing it here,” he said, looking over his shoulder at Gabriel and Uriel. “I know a few angels I wouldn’t mind doing this to.”

“Focus on what’s in front of you,” Uriel said. She glanced at Crowley and he stared back at her, his eyes burning with hatred. “He’s practically begging you. Or, he would be, if he could speak. It’s almost a shame he can’t,” she said, resting her hand between her legs. “It would be so nice to feel him trying to beg around me.”

Sandalphon dropped Crowley’s hand and snapped his fingers. His pants fell to the ground, pooling around his ankles. Crowley balked at the sheer girth of Sandalphon’s cock. If Gabriel blundered his way into something big, Sandalphon crafted his. Where Gabriel focused on length and let girth follow, Sandalphon focused on making his cock as wide as possible. It was a short, squat thing, like Sandalphon himself. And, as Sandalphon removed his fingers from Crowley’s mouth and rammed his cock in, it forced Crowley’s jaw to cracking.

The taste of sandalwood and salt filled his mouth as Sandalphon fucked his throat. Each thrust was shallow, keeping Crowley’s nose buried against him. Precum leaked down the side of Crowley’s mouth, mixing with drool. Sandalphon’s hand fisted in Crowley’s hair and moved his head up and down in time with each thrust. Crowley’s entire field of vision was Sandalphon’s pale body and the tan of his clothes. All he could feel was Sandalphon’s cock in his mouth and the stretch of his jaw, struggling to accommodate the Archangel without detaching.

“You’re right,” Sandalphon said, grabbing Crowley’s chin and readjusting. “This really is good.” He panted and sped up his pace, forcing Crowley’s head back with each thrust. 

_Of course Sandalphon would taste like sandalwood,_ he thought, blocking out the sound of Sandalphon’s balls slapping against his neck. _I’m surprised he doesn’t taste like sandals too. At least it’s better than tasting like old books._

He wondered what Aziraphale tasted like. He wished he found out before this.

“Fuck,” Sandalphon said, and hot, searing come poured down Crowley’s throat. It protested the presence of angelic semen, trying to push it back up, before giving up and letting it slide down into Crowley’s stomach. Sandalphon rested for a moment, still, his orgasm still making his cock pulse in Crowley’s mouth. 

Crowley realised, a second too late, that Sandalphon wasn’t going flaccid.

Then Sandalphon started again. This time, he forced Crowley’s head to do the work, yanking forwards and backwards on his hair. Crowley’s neck and upper body followed the unspoken commands, his rib rioting at the movements. Sandalphon’s cock forced its way over Crowley’s tongue, filling his mouth and nose with Sandalphon’s scent.

Mercifully - and Crowley hated thinking of anything about this as mercy - Sandalphon didn’t have the endurance that Gabriel did. It only took a couple more painful jerks of Crowley’s head before come was forced down his throat again, tasteless and _pure_. Sandalphon released him and Crowley sagged forward, come and drool mixing into a slimy, viscous river down his chin and neck. 

Michael wrapped an arm around him and pulled him back against her chest. Her other hand grabbed Crowley by the throat and squeezed. The pressure on his windpipe sent dizzying signals to his brain that he needed to breathe, his corporation needed to breathe, why wasn’t he breathing. His lungs strained for air they didn’t need, forgetting that they didn’t need it. Michael squeezed tighter and placed her lips on his ear.

“This is for Ligur,” she breathed for Crowley alone.

Then her cock slammed into him and Crowley felt like he was splitting in two. Her arm pinned him in place as she railed into him, her strokes far more brutal than anyone else. Faster, too. And perfectly aimed, striking against his g-spot with each slam back into him. She was the picture of efficiency - get in, do the job, and get out. 

_Who cares if it hurts, right, oh, Satan, it hurts, it hurts so much, when is this going to end, please,_ Crowley thought.

It wasn’t ending. It was never going to end, she was lowering his face down to the floor, pulling his hips up and fucking into him with feeling. The slide of her in and out of his cunt started to drive him mad. At least she wasn’t pretending that he was supposed to enjoy it. No, the way she gripped his hips to bruising, and pounded into him, let him know he wasn’t supposed to enjoy it at all.

_On this,_ he thought, _I can actually agree with her._

“Fuck,” she snapped after a period of brutal thrusts. She released his hips and let him sag onto the ground. “This is getting me nowhere.” 

Crowley heard her shifting and felt her hands press against his ass. They slid up his back and stopped at his shoulder blades. Michael _pressed_ in a different way, and she grabbed ahold of his wings and forced them out into the physical plane. Her hands seized the feathers at the base of his wings and she forced herself into his cunt again, using his wings as an anchor to fuck him deep and hard.

“Much better,” she said and then grunted. Her hips slapped against his ass, the sound of flesh on flesh nauseating.

Crowley turned his focus inward, running through a mental list of things he would do when this was over. A long, hot shower was the first on his list. Sleeping for a couple decades was next. Aziraphale would understand, when Crowley woke up and told him why. By then, the psychological damage would probably fade, and Crowley wouldn’t flinch every time Aziraphale passed by, smelling like love and holiness and a sterile, white room in the middle of Heaven, with Archangels raping him.

Michael yanked on his wings, ripping out a handful of feathers from either side as she came. She pulled out halfway through her orgasm, spraying her come over his back and wings. Crowley’s humiliation cut through his daydreams and he felt sick. Was stopping the apocalypse such a crime? Did he truly deserve to be drugged and raped over and over?

“Your turn, Uriel,” Michael said, her voice calm and even. Not even a hint of a pant, or of her orgasm. “Gabriel, while Uriel takes her turn, will you fetch the man of the hour?”

“It would be my genuine pleasure,” Gabriel said from somewhere to Crowley’s left. All Crowley could see was the grey-white of the bedsheets pressed against his face. “Where is he?”

“I’ve left him in my office,” Michael said. The bed shifted as she hopped off. Her hand trailed along Crowley’s side, pressing against his broken rib. The pain ceased. Crowley was grateful for the effects of the drug; at least he couldn’t betray himself with the sob sitting in his throat over how good the lack of pain felt. Michael then pressed two fingers onto his wrist as the door to the room opened and closed. Crowley felt the delicate bones in his wrist knit themselves back together and felt nothing but empty, cold relief.

_Because it’s not over, is it?_ he thought savagely. _Uriel’s going to have a go, and they still have to bring in their newest rapist, let him have a turn with me. I hope I can actually move at that point, so I can breathe Hellfire all over them._

Someone flipped him onto his back and he stared up at the ceiling. Hands explored his inner thighs, pinching and slapping their way up to his cunt. A finger slid along his slit, gathering all of the different fluids, and then pushed into his mouth. It slid around his tongue, spreading the taste of himself, Gabriel, and Michael, mixing it with the taste of Sandalphon.

“What a mess,” Uriel commented, her voice as cool as ice. She snapped her fingers and Crowley felt the moisture disappear.

_Oddly kind,_ he thought.

Then her tongue travelled along his slit lasciviously, and Crowley stopped thinking.

“You deserve some pleasure too,” Uriel hummed against him. “Since you’ve been enjoying all of this so much, I think it’s time we spend a little bit of time on you. Now, lie still.” She chuckled. “You’ve been such a good demon. Just stay that way.”

_Fuck you,_ Crowley thought.

Her tongue lapped at his clit and Crowley felt an orgasm start to build. Uriel was nowhere near as good as some of the humans Crowley slept with over the years, but what she lacked in experience and skill she made up for with cruel enthusiasm. She sucked on his clit and Crowley came, the orgasm washing over him. He was powerless to stop it and Uriel moaned against his cunt. Talons sunk into his thighs in different places to Gabriel’s as Uriel pressed her face in closer, scraping her teeth over his clit. 

Crowley would have preferred the claws of hell beasts. At least they didn’t pretend to be good.

His orgasm took him by surprise, and then another one followed soon after. By the time he heard footsteps outside the door, Uriel made him come with each swipe of her tongue along his clit. They hurt, his body overstimulated, sweat making him slick, his hair plastered to his face. If he could scream, his throat would be raw by now.

“Get your hands off of me!”

Crowley heard the voice through the haze of his orgasms and the closed door, and his heart clenched.

_No._

“Shut up,” Gabriel said roughly as the door banged open. “You should be fucking grateful. You betray Heaven and you get a promotion.” There was a slap and a gasp that Crowley knew too well.

_Please, please, no._

“Congratulations, Aziraphale.” Gabriel’s voice oozed mocking camaraderie. “You’re one of us now. Welcome to your initiation.”

Crowley came under Uriel’s tongue again.

“ _Crowley_.”

Aziraphale’s voice was filled with shock and horror. Something in Crowley broke, and he lost his ability to think. All he could do was feel, and he felt Uriel lift away from him with one last lave of her tongue over his clit. His arousal was thick in his pelvis, his cunt slick with his come. Uriel gave his cunt a pat before getting off of the bed.

“What do you think,” Gabriel asked. “Should we all take him, then?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale called, his voice cracking on the second syllable. “Crowley, please, my dear, answer me, are you okay?”

_Oh, angel,_ Crowley thought. _Aziraphale, of course it’s you, that’s why they picked me. My beautiful angel, my Archangel, run, please._

“He can’t talk to you,” Michael said. “But he can hear you, and feel you. Why don’t you go over to him? We’ll be along as soon as we figure out the best way to do this.”

Aziraphale let out a horrified gasp as he came over to Crowley. His blue eyes and feathery curls appearing in Crowley’s field of vision and Crowley wished he could smile. All he could do was stare at Aziraphale, drinking in every inch of the angel’s beautiful face. There was a small cut on his cheek, leaking golden blood, and Crowley’s heart swelled.

_You didn’t go down without a fight, of course you didn’t,_ he thought at Aziraphale. _You beautiful creature, I love you so much, and I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry this is how you have to see me. I was going to buy those boots, I was going to pay for them in some way or another, and then I was going to bring home wine and cheese because I love you._

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. “Oh, what have they done to you?”

“You’ll find out,” Michael said, her voice clipped. “Get undressed, Aziraphale. It’s time you join us, become our brother in arms.” She laughed, a cold laugh that wouldn’t sound entirely out of place in Hell. “Don’t worry about him. He’s been enjoying it, right, Gabriel?”

“Right,” Gabriel said, a sneer in his voice obvious. “He came around my cock when I was fucking him. Took me by surprise, but then again, you know how demons are. Fucking immoral. He’s probably thanking his lucky stars that he’s been used so thoroughly.”

Aziraphale’s eyes blazed with anger. Crowley tried to make his eyes wide, but his body wouldn’t listen. Aziraphale stood and turned.

“I won’t rape him,” he said.

“You don’t really have much of a choice,” Uriel said. “It’s your initiation. If you don’t fuck him, then we can’t let him go until you do.” She rubbed her chin. “Not that I would mind. He’s actually a good lay. Must come with being a demon. We could keep him here, drugged, for the rest of time, until you come to your senses.”

Aziraphale drew in a shaky breath. “No,” he said. “I won’t do it.”

“Not a participating kind of man?” Sandalphon asked, chuckling. “That’s okay, I’ve had my fill too. We can watch the show together.”

“Michael,” Gabriel said. He flipped Crowley onto his stomach and propped up his hips. “Want to come in the back with me?” He slapped Crowley’s ass as he spoke. “We can both go at the same time.”

“Sure,” Michael said, her heels resounding on the floor as she crossed over.

Crowley’s stomach roiled at the wet sound of kissing. They were kissing each other as their hands ran all over Crowley.

“Stop!” Aziraphale shouted. There were the sounds of a brief struggle, and then Aziraphale screamed. Crowley’s heart jumped into his mouth at the sound of a crack and cruel, mocking laughter. Aziraphale sobbed, quietly, and Crowley wanted to say something, anything, that would ease his angel’s mind.

Instead, Uriel came around his front and lifted his chin. She smiled and fisted the length of her cock. It became hard, and without warning, she shoved it into Crowley’s mouth. Aziraphale let out an anguished howl at that, and Crowley felt the last of his careful reserves crumble.

“No, no, please,” Aziraphale pleaded, his voice thick with unshed tears. “Please, take me instead, do this to me, just leave him, please…”

Gabriel stopped kissing Michael long enough to laugh. “Oh, Aziraphale,” he said, his voice like the strike of a whip, “we are doing this to you.”

He thrust into Crowley’s cunt and Crowley hurt. Then Michael lined herself up and forced her way inside of him, her cock flush against Gabriel’s. Crowley felt his vagina tear, their size and length too much, and Aziraphale was here, and it was all too much, and nothing could recreate his sarcastic deflection. Aziraphale was here, and watching his new colleagues fuck into Crowley, filling him as much as they could.

Crowley lost himself in the feeling of Uriel in his mouth. She tasted like sand and hot winds. Her cock was more in line with humanity, more artful and less overwhelming. Still, it was just slightly too big, stretching Crowley’s jaw. Gabriel and Michael set a conflicting rhythm into his cunt, Michael thrusting three times for Gabriel’s one. Overstimulated as he was, each one of Gabriel’s strokes drove him to orgasm. Crowley was in a haze; he was in his flat; he was in the bookshop; he was on a bed in Heaven, getting fucked as much as the Archangels could manage.

“You have to participate,” Sandalphon crooned. “Uriel, turn the demon whore’s head to see this, will you?”

“With pleasure,” Uriel said and shuffled. Crowley was forced to follow, his lips wrapped around Uriel’s cock. She stopped turning him and drove her cock deep into his throat, over his nonfunctioning gag reflex.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sandalphon yank down Aziraphale’s pants. Aziraphale was struggling, and Sandalphon punched him in the gut. Aziraphale gasped, retching, and Sandalphon took the moment to draw Aziraphale’s cock out of his pants. It was, thankfully, flaccid and limp in Sandalphon’s hand. Then Sandalphon pushed Aziraphale to stand above Crowley and began jacking Aziraphale off.

It was too much for Crowley, and he broke into mental gibberish. The painful, punishing feeling of Gabriel and Michael were overwhelming. The only sounds in the room wee Aziraphale’s guilty sobs and breathy moans, as well as the sound of flesh hitting against flesh as the three Archangels fucked him.

Crowley was on the verge of passing out when Uriel came, groaning, her semen joining that of the others in his stomach, making it roil and send nausea up his spine. Michael came next, followed closely by Gabriel.

_And bless Aziraphale his stubbornness,_ Crowley thought, feeling a flash of pride. _He’ll fight it as long as he can._

Then Aziraphale let out a cross between a moan and a wail, and Crowley felt his semen hit the back of his wings. Everyone stayed still for another horrible moment before the other three pulled out of him and released him back to lying on the mattress unsupported.

“I really do wish we could keep him,” Gabriel said, running a hand along the curve of Crowley’s ass. “It’s not as if Hell would care, and we could do whatever we wanted with him, so long as we have that drug.”

“Please,” Aziraphale begged. “Please let him go, he didn’t do anything, it was all me, please.”

“Let’s keep him,” Michael said and Crowley wanted to scream. “I, for one, had a good time with him.” She pat Crowley’s back and lingered along his wings. “We could use a little demon pet from time to time. Blow off some steam. Surely the Almighty wouldn't begrudge us that.”

“I know I still have some steam to blow off,” Gabriel said. He grabbed Crowley’s hips and Crowley screamed in the trap of his mind. “Anyone else want to join?”

They all laughed, and Aziraphale locked eyes with Crowley. Aziraphale mouthed, “I’m sorry,” and Crowley stared back, trying to tell Aziraphale it wasn’t his fault, none of it was his fault.

_I love you, angel. I love you. I love you._

Then Gabriel shoved his cock back into him, and Crowley’s mind went blank.

**Author's Note:**

> For this kink meme prompt:
> 
> https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/616.html?thread=1373544#cmt1373544


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